


Follow Every Rainbow

by Luka



Category: Primeval
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 12:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: The Special Forces clan have something to celebrate at the traditional Boxing Day curry party.





	Follow Every Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rain_sleet_snow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/gifts).



> This is a birthday pressie for the lovely Rain_Sleet_Snow. She may not remember giving me the idea for the story after she read my Secret Santa fic Climb Every Mountain. Follow Every Rainbow takes places a few days later. Thanks to Fredbassett for the loan of her military OCs – Ditzy, Blade and Finn. Major Preston, Lizzie, Claire, Davy, Adey and the Taits are mine.

Claire sighed loudly. The kitchen looked like a posse of squaddies had been billeted in there for spud-peeling practice. Ditzy was hidden behind a pall of steam, doing unspeakable things to a vat of turkey curry.

“Coffee?” she asked, flipping the switch on the kettle.

He grinned at her and brandished a glass of wine. Claire knew that he was a pretty sensible drinker, given his career, but that the traditional Boxing Day bash at their house was an excuse to get legless.

“Definitely coffee, then.”

“I'll make it.” Ditzy was a decidedly average cook who had been known to burn water, but he guarded his territory jealously one day a year. The end result was claggy rice and what Lyle had once described as arse-rattling curries, but no one cared - it was a tradition.

“You won't,” said Claire. Ditzy's coffee was the worst on the planet.

His mobile, hanging precariously over the draining board, went off. Claire chucked him a tea towel so he could dry his hands, then he answered it, cutting short some bloody cartoon theme tune that had been driving her demented for three weeks.

Ditzy on the phone sounded like he was bawling out battlefield orders and could be heard two counties away. So few phonecalls were secret in their house.

“What time are the captain and Stephen arriving?"

Ditzy set the phone down and started to ask how she knew, but was silenced when Claire mimed a megaphone. “Half 11.”

“Fine. They can help set the table.”

“Have we got the champagne out?”

“Yep.”

The captain and Stephen had apparently announced their engagement on the traditional Brecon challenge where assorted soldiers, sailors and airmen ran amok and then ate a Christmas dinner in a remote hut.

Claire had known the moment she'd met the captain that he was gay. Interrogating Ditzy about this and whether there was a boyfriend on the scene had been met with stonewalling and what her old PE teacher had been wont to call a dumb insolence stare. She didn't know Stephen well, and found him rather hard work socially, but the captain was clearly smitten with him. And given how undemonstrative Ryan was, Claire found that rather sweet.

Predictably, they arrived to the second. Ryan was dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved white teeshirt and a blue hoodie. He kissed Claire on the cheek.

"Congratulations," she said hugging him.

He favoured her with one of his rare smiles. "Thanks. I assume His Nibs is causing mayhem in the kitchen?”

“Yes. I've left him to it. Niall’s here as well. Can you stop him using my nice new garden fence as target practice?”

Ryan nodded. “Anything else need doing?”

“You could give me a hand getting all the crockery and cutlery set out?”

He nodded again. “How many are coming?”

Claire counted off on her fingers. “You, Stephen, Niall, Robbie and his new girlfriend, Lizzie and the Major, Adey and Marie, Don Tait and Laura, maybe Cara and Darren if she feels up to it, and maybe Jon depending on what time their flight lands.”

They were a bit depleted. Lyle and James Lester had been skiing in Italy. Joel Stringer, who was between girlfriends, was still in hospital with a broken leg. A couple of the other lads were off on a regiment rugby tour to Ireland - Adey, the star player, should have been with them, but was nursing a wrenched shoulder after the incident that had put Joel in hospital. Claire had long ago learned not to ask questions.

She noticed Stephen hanging back awkwardly in the doorway, and welcomed him with a hug. He was dressed similarly to Ryan, apart from the fact his hoodie was red, and looked absolutely gorgeous.

“Thanks for inviting me,” he said hesitantly.

“Pleasure. And congratulations. You're one of us now. It's like the bloody Mafia.”

Stephen laughed, which transformed his serious face. “Thank you. No horses’ heads in bed, I hope.”

“Not unless you piss Niall off. Oh god, speaking of which ...”

The patio doors were open and Ditzy had set up heaters outside for the smokers and the foolhardy. Out in the frost-covered back garden, Niall was louring like a wet weekend in Bradford, having clearly been warned off by Ryan for using the garden fence for knife target practice. Next door's cat was looking much relieved. Claire could feel a headache looming.

The sound of a motorbike masquerading as a jumbo jet didn't do much to ease it. The rider jumped off and removed his crash helmet to reveal a beaming Robbie Finn.

“Someone's been well-serviced this Christmas,” observed Ditzy, oomphing as Claire elbowed him neatly in the stomach.

Robbie’s sailor girl was petite and much prettier than Claire had expected from Ditzy’s vague description, with shiny black hair, very blue eyes and a sprinkling of freckles - what Granddad Bradley would have called, with his usual unPCness, ’black Irish.’

Her handshake was firm and her voice clear, but Claire detected a certain diffidence in her manner. “Hello, I'm Davina, but everyone calls me Davy. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Pleasure. And lovely to meet you. I'm Claire and this is David, my other half.”

“I saw you on the Brecons expedition. Nice to meet you again,” said Davy, coping surprisingly stoically with Ditzy’s faintly tipsy bearhug.

“Come through and meet everyone,” said Claire, multi-tasking neatly as she extricated Davy from the hug, pecked Robbie on the cheek and caught the bowl he'd knocked off the telephone table as he swung his crash helmet round rather too vigorously.

The doorbell went again and Lizzie arrived like a hurricane, the Major in her slipstream. She hugged Claire and then regarded her critically at arm's length. “You were overdue for your Christmas break, weren't you, darling?"

“The A level group this year are little shits,” said Claire darkly.

Lizzie favoured her with one of her ’keep your pecker up’ smiles. “Now, darling, I've got four trifles and three cheesecakes. And we ended up with a small glut of blue cheese, so I've brought that as well. There are also some Yule logs. Graham got a touch carried away with the BOGOFs at Waitrose.”

Over Lizzie's shoulder, the Major rolled his eyes. Claire was never quite sure of the etiquette, as to whether she was supposed to shake hands or kiss him. She was saved, though, by him hugging her, clapping her on the shoulder and then striding off to waylay Ditzy.

“Thank you for bringing so much stuff. You really needn't have done. We've got enough to feed the 5,000.”

“Nonsense, darling. I'm sure we can press leftovers on the visitors when they leave. Now, any news of Cara?”

Claire shook her head. Kermit's adorable wife was heavily pregnant and due any day now. “No. They might look in for ten minutes later if she feels up to it.”

“Or we could Skype them,” said Lizzie, who had taken to social networking with great gusto and filled her Facebook page with quirky chat and pretty pictures and even the occasional LOL-cat.

“Good plan. Now, come and have a drink. And this is Davy Bowie, Robbie's friend. She's in the navy. Davy, this is Lizzie Preston, the Major's wife.”

“Oh, lovely to meet you, darling. I heard all about the mad hike thing. And I hear you and Robbie did splendidly and rescued that poor lad ...”

Davy was staring saucer-eyed, having been caught up in a wave of Lizzie’s hug, floral perfume, gorgeous silk scarf and all-over enthusiasm and good egg-ness. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs Preston,” she managed.

“Oh, call me Lizzie, darling, all the other girls do. Now, let’s pop all this stuff in the kitchen and then we can get a drink and you can tell me all about yourself.”

Claire glanced into the kitchen where Ditzy was at dishing-up stage, so she made herself scarce and retreated to the relative sanctuary of the bathroom, where she re-did her make-up and applied another squirt of her new perfume, a present from her sister. She descended the stairs in time to see Lizzie briskly taking control of Laura Tait, a mousy girl who was nearly as boring as her dour husband Don. Ditzy insisted he was a good and reliable soldier, to which Claire's response was that he had to have something going for him to compensate for a fixation with caravans and Yorkshire cricket. 

As tended to be the norm on these occasions, the women were in the living room and the lads were out on the patio in raucous mode. Claire had taken the precaution of warning the neighbours on both sides. One side – a 40-something couple – were away till New Year. Tina and Jeff on the other side were very long-suffering. But then they had twin sons, both of whom had just started to learn the violin and the piano. 

The curry was voted a roaring success, although Blade was heard to remark that the toilet paper should have been put in the fridge first. After they'd toasted the captain and Stephen with champagne, and the ribald comments had been more or less exhausted, Claire wandered out into the garden to find Davy perched on one of the garden chairs.

"The lunatics haven't scared you off?"

Davy beamed. "They're a great bunch. Mrs Pre… Lizzie's awesome. She's added me on Facebook and says I should come to your wives and partners get-togethers if I want to."

"Good. We have a laugh. And Lizzie's lovely," said Claire, amused by how Davy had relaxed and lightened up no end. She seemed like a nice kid who no doubt had to spend her working life over-compensating with the tough girl act to deal with willy-waving sailors.

"Everyone seems so sorted," said Davy rather wistfully. "Most of my colleagues are nuts, divorced or can't keep their dicks in their pockets."

"This lot have their moments of lucidity when they're let out for good behaviour … I dunno how typical they are, though." Claire thought of the drunkards, dead-beats, fuckwits and psychopaths who peopled the army.

There was a burst of laughter and the lads spilled out onto the lawn. Robbie kissed the top of Davy's head, put a fresh glass of wine in her hand and then proceeded to do handstands against the new garden fence, all the while singing what sounded like Lady Gaga's back catalogue.

Davy watched him fondly, sipping her wine.

"He's a good lad," said Claire quietly.

Davy nodded. "I usually seem to attract macho blokes who want to prove they're better than me at everything. Robbie's fun and relaxed and he makes me laugh."

"Not a bad place on which to build a relationship."

"I know. And I know it won't be easy, what with our jobs, but I really want to give it a go. And I don't mean that he's a wimp, as he'd hardly be in special forces if he was."

"He very much isn't a wimp," said Claire, recalling some of Ditzy's stories about the lad's bravery.

"What's with Knifeman, incidentally?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Niall? Don't ask. I had to get the captain to stop him using my new fence for target practice just before you arrived."

"I don't think he likes me. But then I did swear at him a lot when we did the Brecons challenge."

"He probably deserved it."

"He did!" said Davy firmly. "Has he got a girlfriend?"

Claire laughed. "What do you think?"

Davy was just about to reply when Robbie appeared at speed, grabbed her hand and towed her towards the house, gabbling about forfeits and dares. Claire rolled her eyes and resolved to stay clear – she'd seen that game played every Boxing Day for about the past five years and had no urge to see Finn with his underpants on his head or Adey trying to fart God Save the Queen.

Ditzy appeared, placed a fresh glass of wine in Claire's hand and claimed a kiss. "Everything tickety-boo?"

"I reckon so," said Claire. "Davy and I were just observing that Niall needs a good woman.”

Ditzy raised an eyebrow.

“Or a good man?”

“Woman,” amended Ditzy. “And good luck with any match-making.”

“He's a nice-looking lad,” said Claire optimistically.

“Yes, and Attila the Hun was good with children ...”

“Robbie looks like he's found himself a sane girl.”

“He’s not a psychopath,” said Ditzy.

Claire decided not to pursue the subject. And anyway, she deserved another drink – and some of the chocolate she'd squirrelled away for such eventualities. It was going to be a long day.


End file.
